


crimson headache

by goattmilk



Series: heaven in hiding [2]
Category: A Way Out (Video Game)
Genre: (if you can call it that it's not too much), Banter, Canon Compliant, F/M, Feelings Realization, Guilt, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Porn With Plot, Sequel, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vincent/Carol not tagged bc check the summary, this is now the Vincent Properly Falls In Love And Is Terrified AU, this made me frustrated as hell to write which means it's great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 03:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20001451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goattmilk/pseuds/goattmilk
Summary: He knows he feels something, something deep and strong for this woman, just as he always has. Yet now it is muddled, a thought being pushed to the far recesses of his mind where he only visits when he is not thinking of something else. Thinking of guns, thinking of lies, thinking of a man whom he must betray but now cannot bear the very idea of it. And now he should probably give his daughter back, for fear of dropping her because he wonders if finishing this is even an option.





	crimson headache

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics from Heaven in Hiding // Halsey
> 
> -sequel to aching blush (read it first!)-

Leo has a slight lean when he walks. Granted, it might be more pronounced now because Vincent just made him cum twice in about half an hour. He’ll probably take pride in that in the future.

It’s been visible since even before this grand thing happened, though. Vincent’s noticed the skewed posture from the moment he first encountered the man. Noticed how he walks with his head held high and his shoulders drawn back, so proudly that no one would dare wonder if it was simply a facade to hide something deeper. A past injury, perhaps. Something to shield the hesitance, the discomfort, the way that Leo’s left hand shakes when he writes with it. 

Chances are, no one would exactly care if they did happen to have Vincent’s speed and exactness of perception. But Vincent does, because that’s how you pick someone out in a crowd. A target is what his higher-ups would call it. He’s called this one a friend.

Leo stoops with the lean now, bent over the pool. Vincent listens to him wash his face and then wade deeper to clean off his body. He dismisses the urge to join him, because he suspects the man requires some space. He also has a feeling it’s his own fault.

He stands when Leo turns to him. At first he doesn’t meet Leo’s eyes, partially for respect and partially because he doesn’t enjoy the thought of what might be there. But when Leo speaks, it’s alarmingly ordinary. “You gonna wash up?”

“Uh,” Vincent says. He looks up. “Yeah. You done?”

The edges of Leo’s eyes narrow, but it’s so small of a movement that it could just be a trick of the mind. “Sure, man. But be quick about it, alright? I’m too fuckin’ tired to take out any more guys.”

“Hey, it was your call to stick around,” Vincent points out, however unwisely.

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” Leo struts purposefully towards his shirt where it’s snagged on a root on the ground. Vincent quickly averts his eyes, because it would not do for Leo to catch him staring at the muscles in his back. “Shit, man,” Vincent hears him mutter, “we need some new clothes.”

“Then I guess that’s our next objective. Give me a second.”

Vincent pulls himself up and uses the wood of the shelter to steady; his thighs shake as he walks, still weak from the euphoric ordeal. For the second time, he considers trying to open up to Leo. But that temporary window of post-sex vulnerability has slammed shut and Vincent’s missed the train--Leo’s certain to ensure he gets the memo. He messed up big time, and he’s lucky it’s not being rubbed in his face a hundred times over. Eventually, though, it will.

Vincent wades into the pond with a sigh. He uses his hands to take a cupful of water and throw it over his chest. A part of him feels bad for washing off such a physical, painfully human reminder like that.

But for a liar like him, what good would come out of remembering?

“Hey, Vincent, we don’t have time for a full fuckin’ bath.”

Vincent looks over his shoulder. Leo is closer than he expected, staring at him from the boulder on the water’s edge. From one finger dangles Vincent’s shirt, dangerously close to the lake’s surface. “Don’t,” warns Vincent.

“Wouldn’t think of it.” He tosses it at Vincent’s face and laughs as the older man scrambles to catch it. And then he’s off, sauntering towards the woods. “I’ll scout while you wipe your ass. Be quick about it.”

Vincent almost calls after him. Almost.

It doesn’t take long to freshen up enough that Vincent doesn’t feel like there’s cement mixture matting the hair on his chest anymore. His fingers fumble on a couple buttons and he almost forgets his belt, but soon enough he’s on a brisk jog down the path he watched Leo take. He finds him farther down the ridge, leaning against a smooth outcropping of rock. When Leo notices him, he walks over.

Vincent does his best to keep his eyes on Leo’s, and nothing more. If Leo’s so determined to leave everything behind, then so is he. “All clear, boss,” Leo says. “Good to go.”

“Good. Feel rested enough for another long stretch, then?”

It’s like Vincent just asked if Leo’s ever encountered extraterrestrial life. “What do you think, Vincent?”

Vincent’s jaw tightens. He didn’t count on Leo bitching this much when he made his (questionable) advances. And Leo won’t back down: he regards Vincent like he’s expecting another fight--or something else. It takes every muscle in his body for Vincent to breathe out, inhale, and shrug it away. “I’m sorry. We’ll find food somewhere else.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Glad to hear it, then.” Vincent walks past him, headed down a worn path leading the way out of the ridge. A faint shiver cools him, breeze still fresh on his wet skin.

“So, ah--Vincent.”

Vincent doesn’t stop, but he does tense. “Yeah?”

Rapid footsteps near him as Leo hurries to catch up. “You--so you work at a bank, huh?”

This startles Vincent more than anything else. His cover story envelops him like the second skin it has become, and he goes into a stifling sort of autopilot. “Yeah,” he says, monotone.

“Figures.”

“What are you implying?”

“Well...how should I put it?” Leo taps his chin and side-eyes him. “You’re kinda uptight, man.”

Vincent snorts. “Were you this much of a clown before your kid or after him?”

“I’m serious. Sometimes it’s like you’re on a mission for the fuckin’ God of the universe.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I just seem like it because you’re in my way.”

“Oh, we both know that’s not true,” laughs Leo. It sounds a little harsh, but at least Vincent can tell that he’s relaxing. He bounces between admiring Leo’s trust and pitying it. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

“I’m sure,” Vincent says. “But I’d rather be uptight than a loose cannon.”

“A clown and a loose cannon. I’m keeping count of all these compliments, you know.”

“You ever get them from your wife?”

The conversation screeches to a halt. Leo stops in his tracks and looks at him; Vincent keeps moving, albeit a little slower, as if to pretend he had said nothing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Leo with a deep, warning frown.

Vincent’s face hardens. He hates making mistakes like these. It was a slip-up, a trick from the tongue, something he didn’t mean to do. “Nothing.” His gaze searches frantically for something he can call attention to. It lands on a shape just beyond the edge of the leveling path. “Leo, look.”

Though Leo’s entire body looks coiled up and ready to spring, he somehow keeps a tap on that energy long enough to walk over to where Vincent stands. “What--oh, would you look at that.”

Vincent gestures to the farm, looking ripe for the heisting. “How much you wanna bet we can ride out on something there?”

“A car?” Leo nods slowly. “Beats walking all the damn time.”

Vincent continues to observe it, even as Leo backs up. But before the man can go, something takes over him. A faulty conscience trying to play nice in the wrong situation. “Hold on. Leo.”

“Yeah? What’d you see?”

If Vincent were a lesser man, he would not have the strength to summon the right words. “Listen,” he begins, pulse racing, “about--a-about what happened.”

Leo’s face steels in less than a heartbeat. “What’s there to say?”

Vincent flinches, but chooses to avoid that part. “All I _want_ to say,” he says carefully, “is that I don’t want that distracting either of us. We have a job to do here. And I want to make sure we get it done.”

Watching Leo is like watching a fire lick into the sky, dancing and morphing into vibrant images too fleeting to understand. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” he chuckles dryly. “I know what _I’m_ here to do. So we’ll just forget about it, yeah?”

Vincent lets the question hang for a few seconds. “If that’s what you want.”

To that, Leo can apparently find nothing to say. He turns, leaving Vincent no indication of what might be on his mind. Speculation is a playground for the older man, but one he has no time to visit. All he knows, though, as he watches Leo march down the trail, is that every part of his job has just gotten much harder.

-

Subduing the couple inside the farmhouse is hardly complicated. While it does pose a bit of a challenge, selecting a new set of clothes is impossibly harder. At least for Leo.

Vincent watches him rifle through the closet, impatient but amused all the same. He’s already decided on a patterned button-up and a hardy leather bomber jacket to go with fresh jeans. The pair of worn loafers he wears now are a little big, but comfortable enough.

“Eesh. Tell me the old man didn’t wear this lately,” Leo critiques, pulling a denim jacket off its hanger. “Think this would look good?”

“This isn’t a game, Leo.” Vincent leans against the doorframe and reaches out to feel the sleeve.

“Hey. Hands off. This is mine.” But when Leo layers it with the white undershirt draped over his forearm, he wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

Vincent groans and walks deeper into the closet, nudging Leo aside. “Here,” he says firmly, “try this one.” 

He pulls down a thin, faded green army jacket, looking rough enough for Leo’s tastes. But as he tries to turn and give it to him, Vincent steps on the toes of Leo’s shoes and jumps back. He hadn’t realized how narrow the closet was, nor did he realize that Leo had come closer. Their eyes both widen and Leo just about rips the clothing from Vincent’s hands. 

“Little close in here, Vincent,” he mutters. His eyes dart away.

The vivid image of Leo pressed against one of the shelves, neck bared and hips out, grips Vincent’s mind. He sucks in a short breath and shoves it away, but the damage has been done. “Just,” he grumbles, “get changed.”

He steps back to the closet door, but not without brushing over Leo’s body with his arm. They were so close that it couldn’t possibly have been just him trying to edge nearer. He hears rustling and a soft grunt, and he can’t help but take a quick look.

Leo’s eyes are already set on him, like he knew Vincent would turn. “Little privacy? What happened to not getting distracted?” Everything about him is delicately neutral.

“Just thought you needed help.” Vincent turns away again, forcing down the acidity of the lie in his mouth. He’s full of them, now, but at least Leo’s more than aware of this one. Probably even aware of the way his body has been branded into Vincent’s mind.

“You’re full of shit, man.”

There’s an edge, now, one that Vincent can’t ignore forever. He knows that he’s already mentally committed to it because he can hear alarms in his head, bringing back memories of bars and cold slop hardening to his bowl. It screams, asking if that’s where he wants to end up again. He says he won’t, he’s too clever for that. But hubris has always been Vinecnt’s greatest enemy.

It triumphs again, turning him around to face Leo, who’s still topless. It isn’t an accident. Just another invitation--and this time, it’s being extended to Vincent.

“We don’t have time, Leo,” he says. Despite this, his hand finds the knob, slowly guiding the door closed. He now understands that the conversation earlier was just filler, foolish rationalization. Words they will no doubt say again and again to each other, louder with repetition, because for some reason it’s always seemed like volume proves truth. Which is some grade-A bullshit.

Leo stands firm where he is, retorting, “Then why you coming in?” He doesn’t budge even as Vincent gets closer, but there’s vibrant color spreading from his face and turning his ears rouge. He’s trembling.

Vincent holds his breath as he touches Leo’s neck with three fingers. Roses blossom where their skin connects. Leo twitches, but that’s it. 

He traces the stiffness holding Leo’s chin up, all the way to his jaw, wondering how long it’ll take before the man breaks. He leans in and breathes, “I can settle for this.”

“Yeah,” gasps Leo, and that’s all Vincent needs to hear.

Thought it’s been hardly two hours since they last kissed, Vincent realizes it had felt like months. It’s refreshing, a banquet in a famine, and it’s all too easy to open Leo’s mouth wider with his hand and use his bulk to shove Leo into the back shelves. It’s all too easy to skim his hands over his shoulders, down his ribs, into the waistband of his pants. It’s all too easy to forget who he is, because with every moan, every bite, every sweet nothing that fills the closet, reality slips away.

It’s fast and it’s a fraction of what happened in the woods. Vincent hardly leaves a mark on Leo’s skin--he supposes the sparse forest of hickeys he has already left on Leo’s chest and collar is enough--and the only thing that leaves his shoulders is his jacket. But the feeling of Leo’s body rolling against him, arching with each touch, is enough. It races over Vincent’s skin, makes him feel as naked as he might be in different circumstances. It’s indescribable and deadly, carnal and human, and like liquor it might just be addicting.

Vincent’s already taken a shot too many.

They waste even more time when they finally leave that closet and head downstairs. Privately, Vincent wonders how many more times that will happen, and if it’ll be enough for the exchange afterwards to sound the exact same every time. He also wonders how appalled the couple will be when they see the cum on the pants Leo leaves behind.

The distraction comes when Vincent finds a banjo near a window and remembers a conversation they shared back at the prison--a lifetime ago. “Hey, Leo,” he calls. “Didn’t you say you used to play one of these?”

Leo’s eyes travel from Vincent’s to the banjo. They mist up a little, and Vincent catches a glimpse of something ancient hiding inside. He walks forward and picks it up in a daze. “Yeah,” Leo agrees. “Yeah. Mama taught me.”

Vincent feels something begin to crack a little, right between his ribs. He watches Leo pick up the instrument and sit on the chest beside it; he picks the strings, listening for something Vincent strains to hear. He tunes it with expert fingers and begins to strum out lonely chords.

The music is strange at first, but it begins to weave into a story found only in the air Vincent breathes. He’s never heard a banjo in person. And yet Leo plays it with a hesitant familiarity, like he’s dancing with an old friend. The spell gets stronger and stronger--but then it breaks, because Leo stops to suddenly look up at Vincent. He possesses a renewed excitement that takes Vincent aback.

“Vincent, you know piano?”

“Uh, yeah. Enough.” Vincent already knows what Leo intends to suggest, so he walks over to the upright piano around the corner wall. It takes him a moment to recall the right placement, but he manages to strike a C major. The hum of the keys brings him back to a time he had long forgotten, and the next notes are easy.

Before long he’s banging out chords as easily as Leo plucks them. He recalls an old song that his parents used to sing together, and he feels a lump in his throat because he remembers belting it out with his brother. He had learned it on the piano, too, and he doesn’t realize he’s playing it until Leo calls him out. “Oh, I know that one! That’s good!”

And then of course Leo matches him for it, chord for chord, banjo for piano. They never lose rhythm, even as they laugh and call to each other through the song. Vincent looks around the corner to meet Leo’s eyes, and whatever sadness he might have felt is washed away by the look on the other man’s face. But the bliss comes with the same amount of guilt, because he knows something Leo doesn’t.

If this is the last good memory he’ll ever make with Leo, Vincent swears he will never forget it.

“Yeah, baby,” Leo hoots, listening to Vincent’s fingers fly over the keys. For a moment, he and Leo chase after the end of the song like a pair of eager hunters. Then Vincent’s caught it, and he crows with a brilliant glissando that echoes through the walls of the house.

They both stand, breathless with the rush he knows they both feel. “Nice!” Vincent praises. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Leo chuckles and puts the banjo down. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.” He nears Vincent and tilts his head, mischievous eyes peering out from under dark lashes. “Mostly good ones.”

“I can tell.” The urge to kiss him is magnetic, but there’s a massive difference between kissing someone during sex and kissing someone simply because they want to. Risking the gradual development of this sexual relationship is one thing, and already so fatal on its own. Venturing into a place where there is more is absolutely out of the question.

But just this once, for a memory he can never remake, he makes an exception.

It’s a little more than a peck, quick but deep, something that Leo doesn’t see coming. It’s just a pair of tender hands around a neck and two mouths finding each other through space, simply an indulgent sample. Vincent quickly backs away, looking everywhere except for the surprise on Leo’s face.

“Time to go?” Leo asks. The only thing that’s unusual is the shallowness of his breathing.

“Time to go.”

-

“Hold on,” Vincent shouts. The boat’s nose dips hard, dousing them with whitewater. In front of him, Leo is howling, paddling in vain. They are careening, spinning, shrieking through the rapids.

“Did you see that?” demands Leo. The boat levels out again, but the speed never drops. There’s a few inches of water inside, sloshing around their shoes and traveling farther up with every violent lurch. Vincent begins to suspect they will never fully dry off.

“No,” he answers. “What was-- _fuck!_ ” They hit a rock and Vincent almost goes flying.

“Waterfall,” Leo hollers. “There’s a fucking waterfall at the end!”

Vincent swears into the sky and tries to slow the boat while Leo steers. “We’re not done yet,” he promises. “Just hold on, Leo!”

The rapids hurl them through the white river at breakneck speeds. Foam sprays everywhere and blinds them as they try to navigate. More than once, they are thrown straight into massive boulders that snap angrily at the wood of their vehicle. Vincent knows they can’t take many more collisions.

They speed through an overarching formation of rock, and that’s when Vincent spots the waterfall Leo had seen. “Shit,” he breathes. It’s all jagged stone and hungry edges, hardly water at all. Going over that means death. “Jump, Leo, jump!”

He shoves them to the left as hard as he can and Leo lunges out from the front. He clears the jump easily and rolls on a large, flat boulder on the edge. He scrambles to his feet just in time to see Vincent stand, sway, and fall right back into the boat.

Water surges over the sides as Vincent cries out, staggering as the boat is thrown over the rocky bed. Somewhere, Leo cries his name. He can only hope he’s close by.

The end of the river comes up far too fast. Vincent doesn’t even have time to be terrified. He only has energy to yell and narrowly grab the side of the boat as he is thrown out of it; it is only through sheer amounts of luck that it is caught between the boulders framing the falls.

“Vincent!” Leo exclaims. His face appears to the left of the boat, just above his outstretched hand. “Come on! Fuck, don’t you fucking _dare_ let go, Vincent, come on! You got it!”

As much as he wants to tell Leo to shut up, Vincent cannot spare a vocal response. He tries to ignore the water pulling at him as it tumbles over the boat and roars underneath it. His focus is on putting one hand right over the other to get to Leo. The man edges closer, so close that half of his leading foot hangs over the abyss calling for Vincent’s life.

Vincent reaches Leo and they’re gasping each other’s name like a second language. He strains to push upwards, as far as he can, and brushes Leo’s fingers when the boat snaps free. Leo’s name turns into a scream.

He hangs on with everything he’s got left as the boat pushes him farther down the falls, only to get caught on another jagged part of the riverbed jutting out from between the deafening rapids. Adrenaline is his friend and so is the sight of Leo, who drops down the rocks on the waterfall like a crazed gymnast.

“I’m coming, Vincent! Climb!” Leo orders. His entire upper body extends over the edge. “Come on! Grab it!”

Vincent sets his jaw, makes Leo’s hand his destination, and forces his way through the pain in his arms and the stitch beginning to claw all over his sides. He gets a foot inside the nose of the boat and propels himself up; he grabs the remaining seat before it splinters and breaks off in his hands. Useless now, Vincent throws it behind him without a thought and anchors his hands to the support beam as he gets closer to Leo. He’s near enough to see the fear on the man’s ghostly face, and he’s sure if he wasn’t so focused, he would look the same.

They lock eyes and Leo gestures at him, bending as far as he dares. There’s a terrifying snap that Vincent _feels_ as if it were his own bones. When the boat starts creaking forward, he leaps.

For a moment, he is suspended in air. There is nothing around him, not even a sound. He is flying.

Then he grabs Leo’s hand and slams against the edge of the falls. He gasps as pain splinters up through his chest. It numbs him, chills him, and he doesn’t realize he is being dragged up to safety until he feels a body tumbling over him. He looks up and sees Leo’s face, shimmering with water and sweat. Down below, there is the distant sound of a boat being skewered, and then nothing. The falls continue to rumble by.

In another life, he might’ve said thank you. But somehow the only thing he’s able to say is, “Well, I guess now you’re on the one on top, huh?”

Spit flies from Leo’s mouth as he laughs in disbelief. “My God, you are a dipshit,” he marvels. “You know how close you were to going over, Vincent?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know.”

Leo gives a heavy sigh and peels himself off of him. He stands, asking, “You gonna be okay?”

Vincent takes Leo’s hand and pulls himself up. “I’ll be okay,” he says.

“Alright,” Leo says. His eyes roam Vincent, up and down, seeming thoughtful. “Your ribs? They good?”

Vincent pats himself down. He winces when he touches his side and he’s sure there’s something awfully bruised there, but he can breath and he can stand. So he affirms his health and watches as Leo’s shoulders lose some heavy weight. “Then let’s get out of here, yeah?”

A part of Vincent mourns the passing of a perfect opportunity, but the greatening side of him is thankful. Every time he falls victim to Leo is another foot deeper into the grave he is digging for them both. “Absolutely,” he agrees, and he means it this time.

-

When they reach an outlook, they take a break. They stand on the edge and Vincent stares out across the valley. He wonders when he’ll ever get another chance to see something like this. He feels Leo, close enough to share the same warmth but far enough that they aren’t quite touching. With a glance, he softly questions, “So. What happens now?”

Leo turns to face him and crosses his arms. A foot of air appears between their bodies, amplifying the already apparent shift in atmosphere. “Look,” says Leo, “I know what you’re thinking. And what we’ve been planning, or whatever. But going after Harvey won’t be easy.”

Vincent grunts. “I know. But I’m going after him.” He then decides to try his luck: “With or without you.”

He notes the shade of color that departs from Leo’s face, even though they both must know it’s a bluff. “So you wanna end up dead?” Leo checks.

“I want him gone,” Vincent says with a sharp sweep of his hand. “He’s a cold-blooded killer. World’s gonna be a better place without him.”

For once, he doesn’t think about his companion. The memories of that one evening become too much to bear, and he has to walk across the path to take a hard seat on rock. He buries his face in his hands, hoping for a moment’s thought. There’s something he wants to ask, but after all that’s happened, he’ll feel like the scum he’s aided in arresting countless times before.

He owes it to Leo, though, to find this out from him. From his point of view. _It won’t change anything,_ he swears to himself.

“You never told me, Leo,” he says at last, lifting his face. “What is your story with Harvey?”

There is no hesitation. No debate. The ease with which Leo answers makes Vincent’s eyes sting. “Before I got busted,” Leo says, moving a little closer, “me and Harvey made a huge score.”

“Bank job?” asks Vincent, feigning an innocent curiosity.

“Nah. You ever heard of the Black Orlov?”

Prior con jobs and lessons with professional actors kick in. It’s hard to feel bad in this mode. “Are you serious? The diamond?” Vincent verifies. Leo has no reason to believe he’s acting, but he can take no chances. “How the hell did you pull that off?”

“A lot of planning and a little bit of luck.”

Vincent swallows hard. It’s becoming tough, following the natural cadence of a conversation. “So what happened?”

“Everything was going our way. We even had a buyer. But that greedy fuck had other plans. Something I knew, but--I swear I didn’t expect it, man. I didn’t think he was that much of a backstabbing shit, you know?” Leo pauses, takes a deep breath. Trying to collect his thoughts. Vincent hasn’t been breathing either. “I got the money, handed it to him, and tried to make the damn trade. Dude didn’t even flinch.” 

Another long hesitation. “I hear a gunshot, I thought Harvey shot _me._ Poor guy didn’t even see it coming. He didn’t deserve that crap--I bet he was just like me, man, operating on behalf of some other dirty jackass. Wasn’t his fuckin’ fault he got tangled up with a street rat like Harvey.

“I tried to stop him, take his gun. But he got away and almost ran me the fuck over, and that was it. Next thing I know, I’m surrounded by cops.” Leo clears his throat, closes his eyes. Even if he hadn’t stopped, though, Vincent knows that’s where his story ends. Because that’s where his began.

He rubs his face, hoping Leo didn’t spot the tears that fought hard to escape. With his throat closing up like this, he’s afraid that he’s on the verge of a panic attack, but fortunately the brain cells in the front speak up for him. “That’s rough. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, trust me,” growls Leo, “he’ll be the one who’s gonna be sorry. I’m making things right. For me, and--” his voice catches, then softens into something that could never come from a man like Leo-- “for my family.”

The pressure squeezing on the sides of Vincent’s windpipe heightens with the following stretch of silence. His heart has stopped pumping blood in favor of becoming a pincushion that rolls around his chest, stabbing needles into his flesh. It’s a struggle to keep his face clear of that sharp, shameful ache. He almost tells Leo the truth, right then and there, but it is by design that he says nothing.

Except for his obligated answer, of course. He dodges the last statement, wanting to steer clear of any sentimental side of this story. “So,” he says, “do you know where Harvey is right now?”

A wolfish smile splits Leo’s face in two. He dips his head, saying, “I know one of his guys, Ray, and he’ll know for sure.” Even still, for all his confidence, he keeps nodding, like he’s trying to convince himself that he’s right. It’s a kind of desperation Vincent recognizes from himself.

He looks down and shrugs with his hands, wishing there was something he could say that might ease some of Leo’s burden. Something that didn’t infuse this situation with more confusion than before. His eyes find Leo’s again and he tries to smile. “So? What are we waiting for?” He stands and slaps his thighs. “Let’s go after him.”

Leo stills. The shrewd edge in his stare is frightening. For the first time, Vincent wonders if he’s being too bold, too transparent with his private agenda. Leo comes a little closer and he just about steps back to hide from the eyes conducting a scan of his whole being.

“You really wanna take Harvey down, huh?” he muses, circling Vincent. Watching him.

Vincent turns with him because the last thing he wants is someone at his back. He has no reason to distrust Leo, after all they’ve done--but isn’t that what Leo thinks, too? “Like I said,” he insists. “With or without you. I’m going after him.”

Leo stops and grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right. ‘Course you are.” He turns to the distance and for a moment, the afternoon sun casts a gentle glow over him. It washes his skin gold, slicing across his sharp features like a generous highlighter. Vincent almost bends closer to see what strange color must be dancing in his irises.

But Leo turns back too soon. “Okay,” he decides. “I’m with you.”

Vincent actually sighs in relief, something that Leo smirks at. He glares at him and pretends he isn’t irked. “Alright. Where can we find this Ray guy?”

“He’ll be easy to find. Don’t worry.” Then Leo’s hand begins drifting up, and Vincent flinches when he feels fingers grasp his shoulder. “But first,” Leo says, raising his brows, “I gotta make sure my family is okay.”

Vincent quashes the surge of bile in his throat. He tucks his hands into his pockets as an attempt to conceal the way they shake. “Of course,” he agrees, voice short.

They enter a staredown, perfectly steady, one that Vincent refuses to lose. Leo waits for a couple more seconds before a smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Then let’s go.”

“Let’s.” Vincent falls into step beside him. There’s a new determination reinforcing his bones, one that is certain anything less than total cooperation means his failure.

-

“They’re right over there,” Leo says, waving Vincent over. “Help me out with this dumpster.”

The idea of Leo’s family being so close by makes Vincent feel a bit weak, but he couldn’t possibly refuse his aid now. He moves without a word, ignoring the smell, and finds a place to hook his hands to pull. They heave in unison, sharing strength in a way that has become second nature. Though the dumpster is just one more Kleenex away from overflowing with heavy refuse, the men move it without much effort.

Leo slips through the gap and Vincent squeezes after him. He’s anxious to reach their home at the same time as Leo, though he knows the proper thing to do is hang back. Still, he feels something pierce him as Leo hurries forward and calls, “Hey! Linda! Over here!”

The young woman stands in front of a parked trailer on a level below. She looks up at the sound of her name, halting work on the bike propped up in the midst of cleaning tools. Even from this distance, Vincent can see her eyes widen with her grin.

His heart, inappropriately, sinks.

“Leo! Hey!” She begins to walk over to them, breaking into a jog right before the sound of arriving cars pulls her up short. All at once, her face is stone. She whistles at Leo and turns away, folding her arms in the road’s direction.

Immediately Leo ducks behind the fence bordering the drop. It’s so smooth and rehearsed that Vincent is sure he’s done it before. They share a look and Leo hisses, “Fuck. Cops are here.”

Vincent’s heartbeat moves into his throat. He doesn’t say anything, just nods and falls back, watching the action through the cracks in the fence. But then his attention drifts back over to Leo, whose eyes remain fixed on his wife.

He can’t pick up on the exact conversation that occurs below them, but the sureness in Linda’s voice surprises him. He can sense Leo’s own admiration--it’s a kind of aura he’s never felt before from the man. It brims with the same endearing energy Vincent had not known he desired until this exact moment. The worst part is that he knows it is not for him.

Linda cooly dismisses the cops and turns her back on them, sending the fence a sly wink that assures them business has been taken care of. Vincent glances at Leo, finding a proud smile brightening his eyes. The hollowness yawns deeper, and he has no idea how he musters the strength to follow him down the wall once the coast is clear.

His will can only take him to the ground, and no further. He stands helplessly as Leo runs towards his wife and can’t help but glance away when they embrace. There’s a faint sound of a quick kiss followed by Leo’s voice: “We good?”

“Of course we are. You okay?”

The concern in Linda’s voice makes Vincent grimace. It’s not right, how much he already dislikes this woman. Of course, he respects her, and her stunt with the policemen earned her major points. Even he has to begrudgingly admit that this is the woman for Leo--who else could survive his temper and flamboyance?

“Yeah, yeah,” Leo says. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” Linda turns, and Vincent is able to watch again. She pulls away from her husband and calls to the boy sitting on the trailer’s steps. “Hey, Alex! Look who’s here!”

Vincent is carried forward on light feet at the mention of the young boy. Regardless of whose kid it is, he’s always had a soft spot for them, always fond of their carefree behavior. But this boy is clearly reserved, far less trusting than the children of Vincent’s friends at home. His frown deepens, this time with an empathetic hurt, as Alex runs from the hug Leo offers. The trailer door slams shut after him.

He decides to make his entrance here, while Linda tries to explain Alex’s behavior and gives Leo another reassuring hug. Her attention turns to Vincent when he approaches. “So,” she asks, “is this the guy?”

Vincent lifts his chin, almost defiantly. Leo meets his eyes; Vincent is surprised to find a struggle there. It ends with a concealed warning meant only for him. “Yeah, this is, uh. Vincent,” Leo replies. He looks away for a long moment, but his expression prompts a cautious word from Vincent.

A part of him is tempted to reveal his contempt, but for Leo’s sake, Vincent cools it. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he tries.

“Hey,” says Linda, studying him. Vincent wonders who began that disarming practice between husband and wife.

Only he catches the way Leo’s hand signals to him, telling him to keep back. It makes Vincent feels like there’s something more going on, something only he can know. And, though of course he’s fully aware of what it is, he cannot suppress the childish glee he gains from realizing that he’s now become a secret. He extinguishes it, though, because that is the exact line of thinking that will get them both killed.

Leo shares another word with Linda. He turns back to Vincent once she refocuses on her bike. Leo walks over to him, facing past his shoulder, and rests a loose hand on his chest. “I’m gonna go talk to my kid, okay?” he murmurs.

“Of course,” says Vincent. He’s surprised he had said anything at all.

“I’m leaving you with Linda.” Leo shoots him a meaningful look. His next words are simple enough, but Vincent can hear the ones he’d never say. “Don’t get in trouble with her, got it?”

“You know I won’t.”

One, two, three electric moments charge the air with things they do not voice, but understand. Then Leo breaks it and heads for the trailer. Vincent exhales, looking worriedly over at Linda. She’s hard at work adjusting the wheels on the motorcycle.

“That’s a really nice bike,” Vincent remarks, coming over.

She looks up, only relaxing when he leaves her ample space. “Thanks,” she says, wiping her face. The smudges of oil staining her shirt wins over yet another share of Vincent’s admiration. So does the concise way she addresses him. “So. How long have you known Leo?”

Vincent’s hands tighten into fists inside his jacket pockets. This sort of conversation was inevitable, but he was hoping she wouldn’t immediately start hammering away at him. “A while, I guess,” he answers. He winces.

Linda nods, humming to herself. She motions to the bike and announces, “Habschaiki 59. Sixteen grand, gift from my grandaddy.” She smirks. “I’ve only let him ride it a few times, and the last time was years ago.”

“Oh, yeah?” Vincent smiles. “Why’s that?”

“Well, he almost crashed it. More than once.” Linda lowers her voice and muses, “You know, I’m not totally convinced that he _hasn’t_ driven it down a ditch without my permission.”

“Oh, sure. That sounds like the Leo I know.”

They laugh and nod together. The casual conversation arrives at an awkward end, which Vincent does his best to alleviate by complimenting her bike one last time before stepping away. As soon as his back is turned, he wipes his face and slumps with the effort that had taken. It alarms him. This is part of his career, and the fact that it’s getting harder with an attachment he’s worked so hard to avoid is dooming more than his job.

He’s about to wander around the yard when Linda suddenly calls him back. “Hey, I could use your help, actually.”

Vincent turns on his heel. “What’s up?”

She points to the shed in front of him. “Grab me a wrench over there, from that shed, please?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.” It doesn’t take him long to locate the tool inside the shed and bring it back.

She takes it from him with a “Thanks,” and continues to tinker away. As she does, she continues to speak to him. “You wanna tell me a little bit about yourself, Vincent? Let me get to know my husband’s mysterious friend a little better?”

Vincent almost says no. Then he almost lies when he decides he can’t say no. But she deserves to know the truth--or, rather, the truth Leo knows. “Sure. What do you want to know?” he asks, allowing her to set the parameters.

“Well, for starters, how’d you guys meet?” She tosses a rag aside and looks up.

Vincent watches a cloud roam over their heads and thinks about their supposed first meeting, back in the courtyards. “I think it was during a fight,” he recalls. “Some other men pushed me in to, uh. Help out.”

“They thought you’d beat Leo up?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t,” chuckles Linda. “Though he probably deserved it. You know, Leo doesn’t really do friends. You must’ve been pretty persistent to get through to him.” She looks over the seat of the motorcycle and towards Vincent’s right, where he’d seen Leo disappear shortly after Alex a minute ago. “He seems to trust you. Dare I say like you.”

Vincent almost laughs. He holds himself together long enough to say, “Really?”

“Sure. For as long as I’ve known him, it’s just been me and him.” Linda smiles a little to herself. “So, I’ll be honest, I was kinda surprised when he told me he’d met a guy when I visited. It’s alright--you can blush. You’ve earned yourself a couple bragging rights.”

Startled, Vincent touches his face and finds that his skin blazes under his fingers. He curses silently. “I guess I have,” he agrees. “You think I’ve got what it takes?”

“To deal with Leo? I’d say so. You’ve kept him alive for this long, so, sounds like you’ve already got it. Yeah.” She grants him a grateful grin after a thought. “I guess I should thank you. He’s tough, but I don’t think he’d be here without you.”

Vincent is torn between trying to keep this woman out of his head or accepting her gratitude. His rationality says that it would take far too much energy trying to hate her, and anyway, what good would that do? “You’re welcome. He’s been a pleasure. To work with,” he adds quickly.

Linda laughs and slaps her knee. “Oh, God, no. You can tell me he was a stubborn asshole. But that’s what makes him so hard to stay away from, isn’t it? For people like me and you.”

Vincent’s mouth acts before his brain does. “You make a good point,” he says.

Linda stops and puts her tools down. She stands, dusts her hands off on her jeans. A squint from her makes it seem like she’s reading his goddamn mind. “You seem like a good guy, Vincent,” she declares. She offers her dirtied hand with confidence, knowing Vincent will take it. “Keep our man safe, understand? Or I’ll come after your ass, too.”

It doesn’t matter if her words carried no other meaning. Doesn’t matter that she was smiling while she said it. There wasn’t a single word that didn’t send Vincent reeling with the impact it had. He forces a grin that oozes with lies that leak through his teeth. “Understood,” he says, shaking her hand and feeling like bullshit incarnate. “I wouldn’t think of anything but.”

Linda squeezes his hand and looks him dead in the eye. Her voice is an octave lower. “I don’t doubt it.”

-

It was hard to leave the kid after playing six games of basketball with him. They had spent the night in the trailer, with Vincent volunteering to sleep up in the driver’s seat. He wanted to be as far away from the bed Leo and Linda shared as he could possibly get. That morning, he took Alex to shoot a couple hoops again, but they couldn’t risk staying more than an hour. Vincent hadn’t relaxed until the park was safely out of sight.

The bus is uncomfortably warm. The fans in the overhead vents don’t do much besides spin that heat around and around. Vincent’s got the window seat, mostly because Leo insisted on taking the aisle. What was strange was that it seemed like a given they were together; they could have easily sat on opposite sides of the walkway. There were only two other people in the bus besides them: an elderly woman in the front and a man who appeared to be her son right beside her.

Vincent’s legs bounce with the ride. He chooses not to comment on how he can feel every pebble in the road. Neither does Leo; instead, about five minutes into the silent ride, he looks over at Vincent and asks, “So Linda liked you?”

Vincent chuckles and shrugs. “Yeah. I think.”

“And you liked her?”

Holding onto neutrality becomes tougher. His shoulders get a little tighter, a little tenser. “She certainly seems like the kind of person you’d go after,” he says slowly.

Leo rolls his eyes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” The energy in Vincent’s body is coursing into his hand, making it itch with the desire to put it somewhere on Leo to steady his distorted thoughts. He wants to steer away from this particular subject, but he guides the conversation to a natural deviation. “You made up with your kid pretty well,” he notes. “I admire that.”

“Thanks,” Leo says, although it carries traces of a question. “I’m lucky he didn’t stay mad. He’s kind of a stubborn brat sometimes, just like me. Only reason I’m so against dying during this is because he’d be really fuckin’ angry at me. I doubt I could get him to forgive me over that.”

Vincent suppresses a pained frown. “Well, my money’s on your life,” he says, knowing very well it isn’t. He’s about to jump for a new subject when the bus lurches right, pitching them forward in their seat. He curses right before the driver up front mimics him, then delivers a half-assed apology to the passengers. He guesses they struck a deep pothole.

“Guess we’re almost there,” Leo mutters. He looks down. “Can I help you?”

Vincent blinks and follows his eyes. He hadn’t noticed that his hand had finally made its move and struck out to make itself comfortable on the curve of Leo’s thigh. 

He doesn’t say anything. He’s starting to get anxious. He knows they’re still a long way away from finding Harvey, but he knows what happens after that. His only question is whether he’ll regret it more if he listens to his inhibitions, or doesn’t.

“Maybe,” he says softly.

Though Vincent doesn’t look at him, he can feel Leo shift gears. Fast. “God, not here,” he whispers. A glance reveals the man’s gaze skimming through the bus, fixing worriedly on the rearview mirror up front. “We’re almost there. Can you keep your fuckin’ dick in your pants for one ride?”

A traitorous thrill worms out of Vincent’s chest and permeates his veins, tearing all of his restraint out from its roots. His hand slips a little lower, between Leo’s legs, and Leo makes no move to stop it. He flinches against Vincent’s arm, tensing hard so he might not move. His face is darkening with a rosy hue.

“Won’t be a problem for me,” Vincent mumbles, squeezing Leo’s thigh. Now Leo covers the invasive hand with his own; he grabs Vincent’s fingers to try and hold them in place. Vincent leans in to hear Leo’s breaths, relishing it when they come quicker and quicker. “But it might be a little harder,” he breathes, “for you.”

“Dammit, Vincent,” Leo groans. He sends a furious look Vincent’s way, but it crumbles along with the rest of him. His head dips as Vincent’s hand darts to the growing bulge in his pants. Refusing to waste time, Vincent palms him and hushes him under his breath. Somehow, hearing Leo try and stifle his moans is impossibly arousing. He wisely keeps his head down all the while.

Vincent watches with a small smile. The sight of Leo's body sporadically stiffening and sagging provides ample reason for his own dick to start hardening. He tries to suppress it, think of dead puppies and global warming, knowing the parameters are tight on a bus. Touching Leo is, for now, enough to sate his thirst. 

His mind bears a nasty thought. After finding Leo’s ear and giving it a light nip, Vincent mumbles, “I’m not gonna let you cum this time. Gonna make you wait.”

Leo turns and tries to focus on Vincent’s face long enough to glare. “You really wanna face Ray with a fucking boner?” he snaps between short pants. “Bad call, shithead.”

Vincent silences him with a hard kiss, hoping the seats in front of them are enough to hide them. His free hand temporarily closes around Leo’s chin to pull him in, but his attention is between Leo’s legs. The hand falls, reaching under Leo’s jacket, and locates a stiff nub pushing up against the shirt. The kiss breaks as Vincent pinches it and sends Leo thudding back against his chair. He’s quick to take his hand back out while he takes a rapid survey of the bus; no one’s noticed a thing.

So Vincent reaches over and grabs Leo again, hungry for a final taste of his lips before they’re to compose themselves for business. Leo’s eager to oblige and moans softly into his teeth when Vincent squeezes him. He hopes Leo can feel the promise in his hands.

The distant sound of drills and operating cranes pushes them apart. Vincent drinks in the bliss on Leo’s face, making it an extra incentive to get the job done. He offers a lopsided smile and pats Leo’s thigh before moving away. “Next time, huh?”

Leo looks like he’s on the verge of slapping the shit out of Vincent. “You fucking owe me,” he snarls, shakily standing and straightening his clothes out while the bus comes to a stop. He thrusts a finger into Vincent’s chest before he can get to his feet and leans in. “Next time,” he promises, “it’s my turn.”

“Oh, I count on it.”

After charming their way into the site, they decide to split up to look for Ray. They don’t stray far, though; Vincent makes sure to never lose sight of Leo.

He tries to question some of the workers, but they’re either deaf, exhausted, or too wired up to hold a civil conversation. After getting cussed out by a thesaurus of fascinating slurs and curses, Vincent gives up and decides to take a break. He finds a wall that looks dry enough and leans against it, wondering if he can take a cat nap before Leo notices.

“Hey! Vincent!”

Instantly Vincent is smoothing his jacket and jumping to attention. But Leo doesn’t look annoyed--he’s crouched at a makeshift table made from a huge empty spool turned on its head. He’s got one arm propped on an elbow, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the intention when Vincent notices the workers hollering him over, too.

He smirks, thinks this will be a piece of cake. He jogs over and plants his feet in front of the table with a dramatic sigh. The other men eat it up, hooting and cheering. “Sure this is what you want, Leo?” he asks.

“Oh-ho,” Leo laughs. His eyes twinkle with a restrained passion. “You’re about to go down, my friend.”

Vincent’s grin doesn’t waver. “Let’s do this.” They clasp hands and, on the workers’ count of three, begin the match.

For the first ten seconds, they are almost perfectly even. In fact, Vincent is almost surprised by Leo’s strength until he remembers the fight Leo had put up back in the mountains. He had claimed he was hardly trying, but the truth was, he had doubted he could neutralize Leo long enough to seduce him. If the tension hadn’t been there since the moment they officially met, he wouldn’t have had a chance at all.

But eventually Vincent can hear Leo’s breath start to heave a little louder, a little heavier through his mouth. His own arm shakes. He can tell it’s taking Leo a great deal and a valiant effort to hide how tired he’s getting. “Feeling a little weak?” he taunts.

Leo’s eyes flash. “I could do this all day,” he says through his teeth.

Their gazes meet. Somehow the battle of sparks that ignites between their red faces is more intense than the one waging below. In that moment, where all of their joint strength is pouring into only their arms, the rest of their bodies are left weak and vulnerable. Vincent takes advantage of this rare transparency. It’s not often he sees Leo in his human form, and even less often that it is not accompanied by a string of moans and dirty words. So he stares.

Unfortunately, Leo notices far faster than Vincent estimated. His eyes widen, just a fraction, and the warmth is all gone. He had to sacrifice some focus, though, and Vincent feels the immediate give in his forearm. 

He grins and braces his free hand on the edge of the table to give him a tad bit of illegal leverage, then draws up whatever strength he has left. Leo gives a short cry as Vincent slams his hand against the table and jumps back, exhaling in triumph.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” Leo mutters, shaking his hand out. “Nice.”

Vincent almost doesn’t hear him under the worker’s jubilant chattering and is a little distracted by the men slapping his back--he thinks he sees money exchange hands. Their audience is the only thing that keeps him from saying something he’ll regret. “Don’t underestimate me,” he says innocently.

“Pure luck I slipped,” Leo scoffs. But Vincent catches that guilty grin. “Good enough of a break for you?”

“So you did see me trying to catch a nap.”

“Yeah, dumbass. Let’s go get Ray.”

-

Vincent leans against the car while Leo huddles near the payphone, nodding along with whoever he’s talking to. He’s supposedly securing some guns for them both. Makes Vincent’s surveillance job far more imperative, especially on a semi-busy street like this. But they’re in a small alley between two abandoned restaurants, and if the growling located in his stomach is any indication, Vincent guesses most people would be at home for supper by now.

Eventually the early evening sun gets a little too hot on his neck, and Vincent has to walk into the shade between the buildings. Leo turns a little, tracking his movement, before refocusing on the call. “Yeah, of course,” he says into the phone. “That’s no problem. You just bring the goods, okay?”

Vincent abruptly coughs into his fist. Leo’s version of criminal business sounds like a dramatic reading of some crime-awareness film they’d play in elementary schools. He keeps some distance, pretending Leo’s passable at escaping scrutiny, until he hears an “Alright, see you there.” It’s followed by the click of a phone returning to its slot.

“So,” he prompts, tilting his head. 

Leo turns back to him. “We got the guns,” he confirms.

“You trust this person?”

“I do.” Leo’s brows furrow, then raise to portray his amusement. He comes a little closer and smiles, “Stop worrying, Vincent. It’s not good for your heart.”

A jab at his slightly older age, or something else? Vincent frowns at the hand Leo sets on his chest, but makes no movement to push it away. Even though it might muddle his head, and even though Leo might be pressing his fingers in a little too hard. “My heart,” Vincent says gruffly, “is just fine. I just want to know who we’re dealing with.”

“Just relax for a second, Mr. Paranoia. What, don’t think I know what I’m doing?”

Now he’s definitely playing at something more. Vincent remembers the promise he made on the bus, much to his conscience’s displeasure. “Not at all what I think,” he answers, wary to the way Leo’s fingers pull at his jacket. “Trust me. I’d never suggest that.”

Leo’s eyes linger on his face. “I trust her. Besides, she owes me one.”

“Debt isn’t the best way to gauge someone’s reliability.”

“Depends on what it was.”

Vincent can’t resist breaking the tension any longer. “What,” he says, “did she pick you up at the last prison you were at and fuck you every time you made progress?

The surprise on Leo’s face is so theatrical that Vincent almost laughs again. “What the hell are you going on about?” he demands.

“You heard me,” Vincent persists. “There’s a damn trend.”

Leo sputters. “I’m not the bastard initiating this shit!” he exclaims. “I’ve counted three. And it’s all been you.”

“I’m three seconds away from counting four, and if I remember correctly, it’s about to be you.”

A heartbeat passes. Then five more. Vincent mourns the lost precision of his estimate. The hand on his chest becomes a fist of wrinkled fabric. “You are, by far,” Leo utters, “the most stubborn, ballsy son of a bitch I have ever had nightmares of meeting.”

Vincent braces himself. “Funny. Your wife told me the same thing about you.”

He might be a tad risqué. But at least he’s never wrong.

Leo caves and Vincent allows himself a clear moment to celebrate, knowing full well he’ll take advantage of all of these bragging rights whenever he can. But for now, the reigns are in Leo’s hands. So are his chest and his face. He’s distracted by the ensuing kiss long enough for Leo to push him, walking him backwards until he feels the frame of something metal push into the back of his legs.

Leo releases his chest long enough to throw the bike from its position against the wall and replace it with Vincent.The unevenness of the wall, especially right against his waist, makes him grunt when Leo corners him against it. “You whore,” Leo mutters. 

Vincent lifts his head and tongues into his mouth. “Mhm,” he agrees. He wraps his arms around the man and kneads his ass under the stiff jeans, delighting in the soft moans. “You’re enjoying it.”

Leo combs his hair back and pulls with a shocking aggression. Startled, Vincent jerks his head back and gives an uncharacteristic whimper; Leo’s eyes sharpen, digs beneath his skin, and his hand moves quicker. “We really gotta go, though,” he says between the nips that decorate Vincent’s neck.

“I know.” Vincent’s jacket is opened and there’s a hand snaking up his side.

“We need to move.” Leo’s hips start to roll and their bodies become inseparable.

“We will.” Vincent clings to him, dazed by the way Leo pushes his shoulders back every time he leans up, demonstrating a dominance he’d like to enjoy in a far more inconspicuous setting.

“Yeah,” Leo agrees, “but not before I get you off.” He keeps his hand molded to Vincent’s scalp, keeping his chin pointing up, and hurriedly unzips Vincent’s jeans with the other.

Vincent breathes in, deeper and deeper, and releases it as Leo mouths at his neck. In the same moment, fingers slip into his pants and wrap around his hardening cock. He jolts forward and pushes into Leo’s hand, thirsting for friction.

Leo’s body shakes as he starts to jerk Vincent off, possibly with the novelty of controlling a larger man. Wanting to make sure he doesn’t get used to it, Vincent forces his hands under the waistband of Leo’s jeans and grips his ass and thighs hard. He brings Leo against him, rutting their hips together over and over.

Leo’s groans are right in his ear. It makes Vincent’s blood pump frantically through his veins, humming with the intensity of it all. He figures it out at last, that he will never stop craving the feel of Leo’s body, flush against him and rolling in rhythm and reveling in the star they become. There will never be a day that the sound of Leo’s pleasure will become anything less than a siren’s deadly song. There will never be a time that he will stop wondering what they could be like together, what they could sound like together, what they could look like together, if only he were not the man he is.

The weight of these thoughts becomes too much for Vincent to bear. He throws himself even deeper into Leo’s vices, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in the hands and fingers and legs and mouth that trap his body. He can hear cars rush by every now and then and he tenses at each, hoping there are no voices to follow. The thought of being interrupted makes him move even faster.

Hungry kisses alternate with quick gasps, coming quicker as Leo strokes him faster. Vincent can feel his erection stark against his pants and reaches between them to finally help him out. When he does, he catches Leo’s eyes, and pauses to look at them, just like at the construction site.

They are beautiful. Round and dark and brown, pupils blown and irises a splash of drunken color. They always shine with something unnamable during these times, and maybe that’s the real reason Vincent has become so eager to get handsy. Certainly not the only reason. But as their relationship has developed from the cells, a desire that he has not felt for many other people before, too, has grown. It is a desire born from intrigue, admiration, imagination. Attraction. Hope.

He hasn’t been counting, but he suddenly realizes they have been sharing looks all throughout this event. Both in this specific session and the ones before. They were too short to be of much significance--or so Vincent had thought.

He loses the train of analyses the second Leo starts panting in earnest. “Oh, God, Vince,” he moans, dropping his forehead against Vincent’s shoulder. “Faster--faster, you bitch--”

Vincent grits his teeth and picks up the pace of his stroking. This is something new, the sensation of their bare cocks grinding together between trembling hands. He feels Leo lurch and shiver between his arms; he knows he is doing the same. The thought of reaching their climaxes at the same time sends a thrill up his spine. “Come on, Leo,” he gasps, knowing how much verbal prompting affects the man. He manages to find Leo’s ear and licks it, kisses his cheek. “You always feel so fucking good.”

Leo lets a halted cry escape. Vincent kisses him hard to quiet him. He doesn’t let it break, even as the circuit running between them begins to short and spark. Their movements become more sporadic and Vincent tries to hold off, tries to make Leo cum first. But he loses for the first time and arcs against the wall, thrusting his hips into Leo’s. 

He misses, though, because Leo cums a moment later and throws off his balance. He sags against Vincent’s shoulder and releases a gorgeous flurry of trills into his shoulder. Somehow, Vincent supports and holds him while he shakes. This one act is so much more intimate than everything else, and it catches him off guard. It’s like a switch was flipped in his brain: before, there were only their bodies and a shared mutual need. But now there is something else.

And it is terrifying.

The second Leo’s breathing becomes somewhat level, Vincent pushes him away and tries to stand on his own. “You good, Leo?”

Leo takes a step back. His eyes are still a little glassy, and for a moment Vincent wonders if he had come to the same realization. If he has, though, he gives no true indication. “Yeah. Yeah, I--” He stops. “I’m good. Fuck.”

Vincent cautiously takes his full weight off the wall. He had feared he might fall. His eyes roam over Leo’s body, and then his own. He pinches the bridge of his nose and groans, “We have got to stop ruining our clothes.”

Leo actually smiles. “We’ll find some more.” 

“Should I start counting that, too?”

“How many times we cum fully dressed?”

“Sure.”

“Nah.”

Vincent nods, then waits to see if that same conversation will rear its ugly little head again. He was never one for one-night stands, so he doesn’t know if these thick periods of silence are normal. He also doesn’t know if he should be wishing they could just sit down and talk about this before it gets worse. What he does know is that they almost certainly will not.

That doesn’t change the feeling he gets, though, when Leo fixes him with that look, the one that morphs as the adrenaline rush slowly fades away. It hardens into the normal Leo as Vincent watches. It’s impossible not to believe that they’re both starting to hate it.

“If, uh. If we’re done, here,” Leo says, pocketing his hands, “then. Let’s go get those guns.”

Vincent hears a question instead. He wants to keep Leo here, in this alley, without getting any closer to the endgame. He wants to say _no, we aren’t done,_ and possibly find out a few more answers to the infinite number of questions he’s coming up with. So it hurts him to say, “Solid plan, my friend.”

It hurts even more to watch Leo’s back retreat from him, facing what could potentially be one of the most awkward car rides in his life.

But he follows anyway.

-

They drive to a lone house in the high hills, right on the edge of a ridge. The moment he catches sight of it, Vincent itches to leave the car, even if the woman standing in the front already looks less than friendly. The ride had been less uncomfortable than he feared, although it was quieter than he had hoped. The radio had been their only savior until Leo turned it off at the fourth headline including their names. Vincent hadn’t protested.

“Hey,” Leo says, and Vincent startles with the first clear sound in ten minutes.

“Yeah?”

“I just, uh. I just wanted to say--you know.”

Vincent’s fingers grow tight around his knees. He concentrates on keeping his breathing even and calm. He mentally checks himself, preparing an array of believable answers if this conversation goes where he thinks it might.

But it doesn’t. “This lady,” Leo explains, “her name’s Jasmine. Real tough nut. She’s not gonna like you, so. Let me do the talking.”

Vincent can’t immediately answer. He’s distracted by the discord that results from simultaneously experiencing every negative emotion under the sun, from disappointment from Leo’s evident cowardice to irritation directed at his newest statement. “What?” he finally demands, sitting up. “The fuck does that mean, she won’t like me?”

He watches Leo’s knuckles go white on the wheel. “Don’t take it personally. I--I should’ve told her I was traveling with someone else. But she wouldn’t have hooked us up if she knew I wasn’t alone.”

Vincent sighs and slumps back. “So, what. We drove up all this way for nothing?"

They turn a bump down a small, steep slope leading to the driveway. Leo shakes his head stiffly. “No. ‘Course not. I’ll convince her, but. It’d help if you tried to be uh, less…” He gestures vaguely with his right hand. “Less, you know, uptight.”

“Call me that one more time and--” Vincent searches for a convincing threat in the span of a deep breath. He blurts out the first one he can think of: “I will personally never touch you again.”

The silence is broken only by the helpless sound in Leo’s throat. “Well,” he says after a second, voice quite strained, “guess I won’t call you that anymore, huh?”

They come bumping to a less-than-ideal stop right in front of Jasmine. Right away Vincent can already tell that she possesses a very no-nonsense state of mind. It reflects in her intimidating posture and makes him feel like there’s a loaded machine gun propped on her shoulder, aimed right at his forehead. Like Linda, but with none of the give. He becomes a little nervous when Leo takes more than a few deep breaths before exiting the car. He reluctantly follows suit.

She doesn’t bother hiding how sharply she assesses him. Her eyes rove down his entire figure like he’s a rotten piece of produce. Vincent actually sighs in relief when those eyes lift to his companion. She says his name in greeting, slapping their hands together.

“You good?” Leo asks. Vincent wonders if she notices how Leo’s maneuvering into a position that takes the attention away from him. Probably.

“I’m good,” she says, and then she’s back to picking Vincent apart cell by cell with nothing but her glare. “Who’s this guy?”

“Don’t worry,” says Leo quickly, lightly, too breathlessly. “He’s with me.”

“Oh, he’s with you?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.”

Jasmine scoffs at that. She prowls over to Vincent, who quite literally cannot stand bristling in silence anymore. “I’m Vincent,” he remarks. It takes everything to keep the disdain from his voice.

“Well, hello, Vincent. How nice to meet you.” The sarcasm pours from her mouth, black and sickening, and Vincent decides he loathes her. He’s been raised to admire a fire like that, but he doesn’t remember disliking someone this much. Especially when she turns on Leo and snaps, “You’re a fucking idiot!”

He almost lunges at her right there, wanting nothing more than to shove her back and demand the guns. He can’t risk losing his composure here, at such a critical meeting, and settles for glowering at Jasmine while she advances. “Why don’t you bring your whole family next time?” she spits. “I’m out.”

“Hey! What’s wrong with you?” Leo complains, chasing after her when she storms away. He throws Vincent a quick look packed with guilt and fury. Vincent says nothing.

“What’s wrong with me?” Jasmine spins on her heel with a flair so dramatic, Shakespeare would have laughed. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You think I’m vending ice cream here? Listen,” she says, lowering her voice. Vincent can still hear her, though, and he’s sure it’s on purpose. “I told you. I don’t do business with strangers. And this guy?” An accusatory finger is jabbed in his direction. “He looks like a stranger to me.”

The second Jasmine makes it personal, Vincent figures it’s within his right to intervene. He steps forward with all the intent of telling her off, or at least to bargain. There’s something that’s bound to make her trust him. But it turns out, he doesn’t have to, because Leo does it for him.

“Vincent’s not a fucking stranger,” Leo challenges. Now his tone is cold, frighteningly so. He slaps Jasmine’s arm down and ignores a baleful look that could melt ice caps. “He’s saved my life more times than I’ve saved his. I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for him.”

“That’s sweet,” deadpans Jasmine, more plastic than her smile. “But I don’t give a fuck. I only agreed to you.”

“Yeah? You wouldn’t give a fuck if you didn’t get all the money you know I’d pay you for this? And all for, what, some bastard I decided to put my cards on? Just cause his ass ain’t your liking?” Leo folds his arms. He looks a little pleased. “We have a deal, Jasmine. I’m personally vouching for him. Don’t give me that shit, and don’t give him that shit. Got it?”

Vincent is fully prepared to watch Jasmine beat the living crap out of Leo; he knows she is more than capable of it. But she just glares at him, brow arched sharply, processing the fact that Leo had just signed his own death warrant. Leo notices it, too, and turns a little pale. They wait for the verdict.

Jasmine purses her lips. She tongues her cheek as she shakes her head, walking slowly up to Leo, beginning to chuckle. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she snorts. “You are one cheeky little _bitch._ ”

Leo shrugs. “Heard it.”

“No one talks to me like that.”

“It’s because you put them all in their graves.”

“I will wipe that shit-eating smile off your face one day and send you there too, you know, Leo.”

“I have no doubts.”

Jasmine nods again like that was what she wanted to hear. She looks at Vincent and her expression shifts to something more like a mother and less like a starving cougar. “Fine,” she relents. “Then you wanna tell me more about him? Maybe explain how he ended up being the one guy you’d stick your neck out for against me? Because this oughta be good.”

Vincent’s heart skips a beat. A warm tingle shudders through his chest and all the way into the tips of his fingers. It gets hotter when he spots a noticeable blush coloring Leo’s cheeks. He visibly struggles to rid of it. “Let’s just get those guns,” Leo mutters. “We’ll be out of here before you know it, okay?”

Jasmine’s cynical eyes flick between them. The line of her mouth becomes thinner.

With a huff Leo opens his jacket and rummages around in the inside pocket. He pulls out a thick wad of fifty-dollar bills, courtesy of the gas station back in the county, and offers them to her before she can say anything. “Okay, Jasmine?” he asks pointedly.

Vincent gets the strong impression that there’s a conversation going on that he can’t hear. It only ends when Jasmine accepts the money and walks towards the other parked car. As soon as her back is turned, Leo’s shoulders fall as he releases a quiet breath. They share a lingering glance, and Leo actually smiles. The worst part about it is that Vincent can feel his lips mirroring the easy grin, just for a second, before he turns away and clears his throat. 

A click interrupts the silent exchange. Jasmine steps away from the opened trunk, gesturing to the firearms inside. “You both get one. You can test them over the wall.” She points to a waist-high cement barrier bordering the driveway from the open ridge, then innocently loads a pistol. “You point one at me, and I put one bullet between your eyes and one between your legs. Understand?”

“Thanks, Jasmine,” Leo says, stepping past the woman. Vincent joins him, hyper-aware of the way their shoulders brush. But guns have always distracted him, and soon enough all he’s thinking about is the type, shape, and weight of each gun. He picks up an MP5 and hefts it on his right arm, testing the balance. He shoots a round over the wall and, without a need to test any more, knows it’s the one.

Leo takes a little more time with the selection. He goes through a shotgun, a rifle, and an M16 before deciding on the first. “Alright,” he says, slinging it over his shoulder. He looks at Vincent. “You got what you want?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we’re good, Jasmine. Thanks.”

Jasmine nods and closes the trunk. She folds her arms and says, “You’re welcome. Now I better not see your face back here for a long, long time.”

“If all goes well,” Leo responds, “you won’t.”

“Then see to it.”

Vincent shakes her hand after Leo does, half expecting her to dig her nails into his skin. She looks him in the eyes and doesn’t reply to his _thank you._ Instead, she glances at Leo as he clambers into the driver’s seat and murmurs, “Idiot trusts you. Why, I’ll never know. Do you?”

He shifts from foot to foot. He can't tell if she’s testing him. “Can’t say I do,” he lies. He takes his hand back with a terse nod. “But I trust him, too.”

“Good luck. See where that takes you.”

The irony of the statement makes Vincent smile despite himself. “Thanks again.”

“Get out of here,” says Jasmine.

Vincent leaves her standing beside the trunk. After he gets into the passenger seat and closes the door, he feels his heart begin to slow, finally safe from such a unique threat. The threat in question waves them goodbye while they pull out of the driveway, a lit cigarette between her fingers, and walks back into her house.

For five minutes, it’s just silence and the rumble of the road. Vinent doesn’t know where they’re heading now, but something holds him back from asking. He figures they’re going back into the city, probably to grab a place for the night.

“Nice lady,” Vincent comments, staring out the window.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I thought she was gonna break a bottle over your head.”

Leo chuckles. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he muses.

Vincent looks at him, alarmed. “Seriously?”

“Maybe. I mean--it seems like something she’d do. I don’t remember.”

It takes an embarrassingly long time to understand Leo was just trying to make a joke. Vincent hadn’t realized how on edge he’d been, probably since they left the phone booth back in the last city. “You know where you’re going?” he checks.

“More or less,” Leo sighs. He rubs his neck. Then something peculiar happens: that hand drifts to the middle, right between them, and just hovers for a long moment. Though it doesn't seem that Leo fully knows what he’s doing, it's almost like he’s considering setting it on Vincent’s thigh. Vincent considers taking it. But then it flinches back and rests on the center panel, away from danger. 

Leo keeps talking, unperturbed. “Just relax, okay? We got our shit. Probably won’t be able to rest for a while after tonight.”

 _Tonight._ A beautiful feeling rushes through Vincent at that word. He feels something akin to hope. He looks at Leo, wondering if he might’ve felt it, too, but can’t tell. He never can.

He clasps his hands tightly together in his lap before he does something he regrets. Maybe like rub the back of Leo’s hand, or touch his cheek, or squeeze his knee, or--

“Alright,” Vincent says. He shrinks back a little, as if his own body is reacting to the disappointment he inflicts upon himself. He doesn’t imagine the same emotion manifesting in Leo’s frown. “Care if I take a little nap?”

“Not at all.”

-

After being in the wilderness and suburbs for so long, driving into the heart of the city flips a switch that jolts Vincent awake. He sits up, disoriented by how fast the grogginess disappears from his mind.

“About time you woke up.”

Vincent starts. Somehow, he had forgotten that he was traveling with someone else. “Sorry,” he mutters. “How long was I out?”

The city lights flash by in a regular pattern. It almost lulls Vincent back to sleep. “A couple hours,” says Leo with a laugh. “Left me lonely and driving, man. Gotta say, though, warms my heart to see you finally trusting me.”

Vincent groans. Not a full minute awake and he’s already having to fend off uninvited sentiments. “Your standard for trust is awfully low.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that three days ago, you woulda let me drive while you fell asleep.”

The fierce sense of fondness that joins the siege against him is too much to dodge. Vincent bites his lip. “I can’t.”

The answer must satisfy Leo, because he changes the subject. “You said you can get us a plane, right?”

Vincent immediately wants to go right back to shameless flirting. Anything is better than remembering his mission. Hot shame is forced back with a hard swallow and a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah. Uh--” He leans away to peer through the window. And to escape whatever look Leo’s shooting him. “Can you stop by that phone booth over there?”

“Sure.” Leo pauses as he turns, then continues, “You don’t let me down, alright? ‘Cause I don’t wanna walk to Mexico.”

They pull over to the curb. It’s well lit by the lights of the live theater on the corner, eerily empty for a Friday evening. “There’s your phone,” says Leo, watching Vincent open the door. “I’ll look around.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Vincent hesitates for just a second before making himself walk forward. He glances quickly over his shoulder and sees Leo walking in the opposite direction, trying to act nondescript. It makes Vincent grin, if but for an instant.

He opens the booth door and slides inside after a quick survey of the immediate area. He pulls out some change and dials in the call. Waiting for Emily to pick up is excruciating, as if Leo might be blessed with some supernatural revelation and come for his ass. But the woman answers, with a bewildered “Hello?”

“Hey,” Vincent says. “It’s, uh. It’s Vincent.”

“Oh, my God.” Even through the phone, Vincent can hear Emily’s confusion and surprise. “Aren’t you--didn’t--hold on.”

“I’m fine,” he insists, not wanting to discuss everything that’s happened in the past few months. “But thanks. Um--look, I need to fly somewhere.”

“Are you serious?” Emily complains. “You disappear out of the goddamn blue for, what, four or five months, and then you have the audacity to call me for a _flight?_ You’ve got some nerve--”

“ _Please,_ ” Vincent says. He can hear himself reverting to his ‘cop voice’. He’s sure Emily hears it, too. “It’s for an assignment. I’ll explain everything. Just get us the flight, I’ll pay you up front. And you owe me, Em.”

He hears a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine. Fine. When?”

“Uh. Tomorrow.” Vincent winces at her indignant sputtering and adds, “I’ll double the payment! You set the terms. Can you make that work?”

“ _Christ,_ Vincent, you’re fucking lucky I like you,” mumbles the woman. “I can make that work. Yeah. Are you alone?”

The corner of Vincent’s eye twitches on its own. “No. I’ve got a guy. Will that be a problem?”

“Not as long as you know that’s gonna cost you.”

“Sounds like a deal.”  
“Perfect. And--oh, hold on. Shit, uh--”

Vincent tenses. “What?”

“I almost forgot. Fuck, I totally would’ve forgotten if you hadn’t called,” Emily admits. “Carol. She went into labor.”

For a long moment, Vincent can’t hear anything. Can’t feel anything, either. As if this whole thing wasn’t already so goddamn confusing. A red darkness hazes the edge of his vision, and he’s scared he might fall. “What?”

“Yeah. She’s okay, though. I got there in time to drive her, and I left her wi--”

“When?”

“A few hours ago. Her sister was with her for a while.”

“How the fuck did you forget to mention that?”

“I’m mentioning it now, aren’t I?” snaps Emily.

Vincent exhales. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. Where--where is she?”

“Garden Hill. The doctors saw her as soon as we got there.”

“Okay. Okay.” Vincent shakes his head and rubs his face. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good luck, Vince.”

Vincent can hardly fit the phone back into its slot before he has to steady himself against the booth walls. He’s already starting to hyperventilate, and the tiny enclosure surely isn’t helping. He barges out of the booth and sucks in a long, terrified breath.

Leo walks towards him with an excited expression on his face. “Did you get us a plane?”

That’s the last thing on Vincent’s mind. “Yeah. Yeah, I did,” he says. His eyes refuse to focus. “I need to go.”

Leo’s face darkens. “What? What are you talking about? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Vincent affirms, “but I need to be somewhere else right now.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Leo lunges forward and grabs his arm before Vincent can physically leave this conversation. “You can’t just walk away!”

Vincent yanks his arm out from Leo’s grip and stares him right in the eye, regardless of how hard it might be to stomach the hurt he faces. Knowing that one day, much too soon, the look will be even worse, helps in a twisted way. “I’m not walking away,” he protests, “but something happened, and I need to be there, alright?” He doesn’t know why it’s so hard to tell the truth. It changed nothing at all. But for some reason, the words just don’t come out.

“Vincent.”  
The way Leo says his name makes him freeze in his tracks. He turns back, already hating what will come next. “We’ve come too far to back down now,” Leo says softly. He approaches cautiously. “You need to talk to me, Vincent.”

“Leo--”

“Tell me,” Leo interrupts, “what’s going on in your head.” When Vincent refuses, he presses, “Talk to me!”

“I can’t--” Vincent tries and fails to produce an explanation. He feels like he’s running a high fever. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Bullshit, you can’t,” snorts Leo. “You’ve said a whole lot more before, and I assure you, I could’ve degraded you a long time before now if that’s what you’re worried about.” He steps closer, and what he says is nothing inherently special. It’s the way he says it, though, that shakes Vincent to the core. 

“I trust you, Vincent,” Leo hisses. “Now it’s your turn to open up.”

Vincent stands in shock for far too long. Leo doesn’t push him anymore, just folds his arms and stares him down. He’s done his part, admitting what was clearly a hard confession to make--and that’s what does it for Vincent. “Okay,” he caves, rubbing his neck. “It’s--it’s my wife. She--”

Leo’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second--a second almost too late. Vincent doesn’t understand until he’s being gathered between Leo’s frantic hands and yanked forward. The gunshot that interrupts, though, leaves no room for misconceptions. It would’ve sunk a bullet right into his back, but thanks to Leo’s reflexes, it shatters arguably harmlessly into the glass of the theater’s entrance.

Vincent briefly praises whatever god exists that his confusion and panic never got the best of him in these times. He thanks Leo with a slap on the shoulder, followed by a sharp curse, and risks his shoulder while he scrambles to his feet. There’s a man advancing towards them; he reloads a muffled pistol and aims.

“Shit,” Vincent says again, and he’s shoving Leo forward towards the entrance. “Come on! We gotta get out of here!”

Leo spins on his heel and throws his shoulder. There’s a high-pitched _whizz_ just beside Vincent’s ear that precedes an eruption of glass, shattering what’s left of the doors. Leo crashes through at the same time and Vincent bounds over the jagged frame behind him. They keep their heads down as they sprint towards the back of the lobby, then dive behind a line of wooden counters.

“Shit,” mutters Leo. “The guns are in the car.”

Vincent shakes his head. “No time for that. We have to go.” He looks around the corner of the counter and spots the assassin at the same time the man spots them. Trusting that Leo will stay close, Vincent pushes himself back up and races down the opposite corridor. Another bullet shrieks past his face, leaving a cold breeze in its wake, and he takes a minute shred of comfort in the fact that this guy isn’t the best shot in the world.

The men sprint down the long hallway into the right wing of the building for as long as they can; soon enough, a single doorway stands in their way. Vincent barely pauses to lower his shoulder and bust it open, praying it isn’t an office. His hopes are answered when they stumble into a warehouse.

“Leo, hold on,” he shouts, hearing his friend slam the door shut behind him. “I’ll help you barricade the door!”

“Better hurry, Vincent!”

Vincent finds the edge of a filing cabinet a few yards away from the door and throws everything he’s got into pushing it towards Leo. “You hear him?” Vincent asks through clenched teeth.

“No,” gasps Leo, reaching out for the cabinet. “Come on. I got you.”

Together they maneuver the hefty object in front of the doorway, grunting all the while. When satisfied, Vincent lets himself breathe for just a moment. Beside him, Leo wheezes, “This should buy us time. Gotta get out of here.”

“Yeah. I know.” Vincent scans the warehouse, only temporarily freezing up. “Up there. The vent.”

Leo spares him a nod and follows him to the back of the room, where a large boat prop is perched on a rolling stand. “Get up there,” Vincent says, gesturing to the stairs winding up to it, “and I’ll push you across.”

“Got it.” It takes the man about six seconds to scramble over the steps and jump into the boat. By the time Vincent pushes him over, the gunman is at the door, evidenced by the sound of a boot and a body slamming into the metal.

“Fuck,” Leo mutters. He kneels on the catwalk above Vincent’s head and stretches, offering his hand. “Hurry up,” he orders. “I’ll kill you if you get shot tonight.”

Vincent had begun to feel the beginnings of a stitch burning into his side, but the genuine agitation in Leo’s whitened face gives him an extra boost. He uses it to vault onto the boxes piled against the stand and grabs Leo hand; he places a foot on a hastily nailed wooden beam to make it easier to haul him up.

They gather at a vent and pull at the edges like a seamless unit. They tear it off at the same moment the gunman bursts into the room, axe in hand and pistol aimed in the other.

Vincent drops under a bullet and shoves Leo into the vent, yelling senseless things all the while. He crawls in after and spares no backwards looks, because he knows that all he’ll see is lead streaking towards his face. The smell of corroding metal and dust is suffocating. When he drops into the next room after Leo, petals of salty sweat has bloomed all over his skin.

They emerge on another catwalk overlooking the main theater. They have a second to gasp, breathing against each other, and in the temporary lapse Vincent finds himself searching for Leo’s hand. When he snags it, neither of them say anything. It’s just a look and a quick one at that, but it’s enough to calm Vincent’s pulse from _I’m two seconds away from being shot in the skull_ to _I’m going to become a father tonight._ Which, unhelpfully, was just as distracting as the first thought. A grimace directs his fingers away from Leo’s.

A shot pings off the metal bars of the crosswalk barrier and effectively interrupts the peace. Vincent blinks the trance away and looks over at the spotlights connected to the rails. Its bulk, along with the backing, was just enough to shield them from the bullets. “We gotta move it,” Leo says, just as Vincent comes to the same conclusion.

Glass shatters, spraying sparks everywhere, as the gunman finds targets in the spotlights’ bulbs. It’s hard to maintain a brisk pace while crouched and lugging along a heavy weight, but somehow the men make do with the peak of their adrenaline. In fact, they’re almost all the way across when Leo suddenly cries out and collapses behind Vincent.

“Leo!” Vincent has no qualms, no doubts about what he immediately knows he must do. He releases the spotlight and grabs Leo’s underarms, pulling him into his lap and back into cover. Leo is groaning, holding his side, trembling lightly as Vincent touches his face. “Fuck,” he mutters. “He get you?”

“Just grazed my side,” spits Leo. He shakily pushes himself up and squeezes Vincent’s knee. “I’ll be fine. It’s not that deep. I just-- _agh!_ ” He sinks back down, bracing a hand against Vincent’s chest.

“Stay behind me,” says Vincent, gently lowering Leo to the ground. “You don’t need to push anymore.” He’s tempted to check the wound, but with their pursuer surely encouraged by Leo’s injury and no doubt moving to get a clearer shot, they cannot spare the time.

They reach a turn in the catwalk where the spotlight control panel is stationed. Vincent guides Leo to it and asks, “Can you move me across?”

With a bit of difficulty, Leo looks at the controls. “Yeah, but--”

“I’ll jump him. Help me if you can, after you get over.”

“Hold on. Vince--”

“Just do it, okay?” Vincent begins his race across, leaving Leo no room to argue. The spotlight begins to move with him; he steals quick looks around the side to get a read on the gunman. He tries to figure out how exactly he’ll not only survive the jump, but decommission the man as well.

He reaches the end and inhales. Then he vaults off the catwalk and landing on the man, hands outstretched for the firearm.

Vincent just barely manages to redirect a shot aimed point-blank at his face and grabs the man’s wrist, struggling to battle the resistance. For a few moments, it’s a stalemate of an upright fight, and then he’s being forced to the ground with the man’s mass. He can’t keep the gun facing away from him for much longer. 

“Leo,” he shouts as the man straddles him. A rugged and malicious face, complete with a set of bushy eyebrows, leers down at him. “Leo, hurry!”

He can hear uneven footsteps rattling the passage overhead, hailing his wounded savior. Under normal circumstances he probably would’ve done all he could to keep Leo out of the face of probable death, but if he did, it would mean certain death for them both.

Vincent’s strength almost gives a couple moments before the assassin is abruptly torn from him. But the man keeps a hold on Vincent’s shoulder, and when Leo tries to push him away, all three of them roll over the edge and tumble onto the stage. Leo’s agonized wail propels Vincent to his feet right after the gunman is up. An elbow thrust into his windpipe sends him staggering away, landing him on his back once again.

He stares up at the ceiling, stunned for a good while. And then he hears a gurgling cry, a distorted version of his name: Vincent looks to see the gunman strangling Leo, a body clad in black pressing Vincent’s partner into the floor.

A surge of rage overcomes him and transforms him into a bull. He finds a length of rope coiled up on the floor and charges towards them. “Let go, you son of a bitch,” he snarls. He loops the rope around the man’s neck and tears him away.

He drags the assassin to the floor, pulling the cord ever tighter; Leo finds the other end and pulls harder. The man struggles, turning a dangerous shade of purple, choking out a flurry of filthy curses. And then he falls limp, unconscious, bulging and bloodshot eyes rolled to the back of his head. Just like that, the storm is suddenly silent.

Leo falls back with a long, weak sigh. Vincent lets go of the cord, pushes himself to his feet, and walks over. He kneels and worriedly scans him.

Leo’s neck is an angry red and his face is even deeper, tight as he cradles his side. Blood leaks slowly between his fingers. “Jesus,” Vincent mutters, resting a light hand on both damaged areas. After a thought, he shrugs off his bomber and says, “Take off your jacket.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Just take it off. You can wear mine instead.”

Leo still looks puzzled and a little flustered, but in his pain he doesn’t question it any longer. Vincent helps him out of the top, as gently yet quickly as he can, and tightens it into a coil of fabric. “It’s not much,” he says, weaving it around Leo’s abdomen, “but it’ll staunch the blood until we get to the hospital.”

“The hospital?” asks Leo, sharp in tone. His breath ruffles Vincent’s hair. “No, we can’t--listen, Vince, I know you’re--worried and everything--but seriously, man, I--”

“It’s not,” begins Vincent, and then he sighs, lowering his voice. “It’s not just for you.” He finishes tying the knot and pulls his jacket over Leo’s first arm without looking up, aware of the hot stare fixed on him.

“Excuse me?” Leo says incredulously.

Vincent shakes his head. “My wife. She’s there, too.”

“What? What’s the problem?”

“She just--we just had a baby.” Every syllable had to be pushed through unwilling teeth, and when it’s finally out there, hanging out in the open, Vincent droops. He doesn’t realize he’s buttoning the jacket up Leo’s stomach until a hand softly pushes him away.

“That’s great news,” says Leo, though his voice doesn’t quite match his words. Vincent looks at him and narrows his eyes warily. “Yeah, that--congrats, man.”

“Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.” Vincent finds he can’t form a coherent thought about his wife or their newborn child because his mind refuses to leave the person immediately in front of him.

“You don’t seem too--happy about that.”

Vincent leans back on the balls of his feet and lifts to a squat, hovering over Leo. “It’s not that,” he retorts. “Trust me, I’m happy. I’m just a little--preoccupied, at the moment, alright? Just--” He gestures vaguely in Leo’s direction. He knows what the truth is. _Things are complicated right now._ Or even: _I’m more worried about you._

Of course, true to tradition, what he ends up saying are neither of those things. “We just need to get going. Find you some supplies.”

“So we’re--going to the hospital?” Leo checks, accepting the arm Vincent offers.

“Yeah.”

“Good--we’re gonna get you to your kid.”

“And get you a first aid kit.”

Leo waves away the concern, even straightening up to prove he’s okay. The paleness in his face and his short grunt says otherwise. “We’re gonna--go to the fuckin’ hospital, you’re gonna go see your kid, and--and then we’re gonna get on that plane. Hightail out of here. Sound good?”

Despite his challenging tone, Vincent puts an arm around Leo to help him forward. He holds him tightly, indulging in the wrong moment for all the wrong reasons. “I’m the one who makes the plans,” Vincent reminds him. “Remember?”

“As long as I can--trust you on this.”

Vincent looks down. The blood pounds in his ears. He can’t feel Leo’s body, now lost in his darkening thoughts. “You can trust me.”

-

Vincent manages to lift a few rolls of bandages off of the first cart he sees. They’re in his inner jacket pocket, presently nestled against Leo’s side. With the first initiative complete, Vincent relaxes a little more, but it becomes all for naught when a nurse leads him to Carol’s room.

He walks in, Leo respectfully behind him, and all at once he’s walking in a dream. Too fuzzy to be reality, too calm to be his life. The door closes, and it feels like it’s just him, his wife, and the baby swaddled in her arms.

“Hey, Carol.”

The woman looks up at him. Her face seems thinner, her wrinkles more pronounced while she frowns at him, but she looks the same as she always has. In another timeline, maybe it would’ve made him feel safer. Now, he feels like a complete stranger. A man with an affair forbidden in more ways that one in his back pocket and years of a career’s heaviest demands weighing him down.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” she says. Nothing about her betrays surprise. But there is no particular delight, either.

“Of course I would,” replies Vincent, risking a step closer. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Carol falls quiet for a bit. She sounds more exasperated when she asks, “Vincent, what are you doing here?”

Vincent studies his shoes. He hates feeling meek in front of people, his wife especially, but he supposes that in this instance, it’s deserved. “She’s my daughter, too,” he says, now gazing at the baby’s face.

Carol watches him. Her eyes flicker to the side, looking over his shoulder, and Vincent feels a sense of urgency. He turns around and gestures to Leo, stammering, “This is, uh.” _He’s just like you._ “Leo.”

Leo looks amusingly uncomfortable, lifting an uncertain hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Um, baby girl, yeah?”

There’s a beat of silence when Carol says nothing in response. Leo looks back at Vincent with a whole novel fluttering through its chapters in his expression. Vincent catches surprise, unease, fear. Pain. “I--um, I. Yeah,” he mumbles. His hand searches for the door handle. “I’m gonna. Leave you guys alone. I’ll--be waiting outside.”

“Yeah.”

“And, uh.” Leo glances at Carol. “Congrats, by the way.”

His eyes leave Vincent last, never disappearing until the door is fully closed once again. The older man stands there for a full second afterwards, staring at wood, and then his head jerks back to address Carol.

The configuration of her face has changed entirely. Vincent yearns to study it, wonder why her brows are lifted and her mouth is twitching like she wants to smile. “May I hold her?” he asks, seeking a distraction.

It takes Carol a while to respond. It must be hard for her to say, “Okay.”

He walks quietly over to her bedside and takes a quick peek out the window. He does not see, nor hear, police sirens. Yet.

Carol carefully offers him the baby girl. She tenderly deposits her into Vincent’s arms, which are only marginally shaking, and watches with some sense of contentment as Vincent lifts her to his chest. He tries to mask just how afraid he is by pulling the little blanket farther up around her ears, shushing her instinctively despite her startling silence. He marvels at that peace, at her, at this gift that he frankly doesn’t believe the universe would extend to a man like him. His nerves extinguish themselves, and he smiles.

“She’s so beautiful,” he murmurs. He gingerly thumbs the side of her head, and when she turns his face into his arm, his heart swells.

“She is,” agrees Carol. 

Vincent gazes at his daughter until another lucid thought forms. When it does, he almost doesn’t say it. But he really has to start expressing these things, because he knows now that in this line of work, the chance will never come again. “Carol,” he says, “I miss you.”

The lines in Carol’s face deepen. “Vincent...please…”

“I love you. So much. I just have to finish this.” And even as he says it, he ponders its truth. He knows he feels something, something deep and strong for this woman, just as he always has. Yet now it is muddled, a thought slowly drowning in a murky swamp while a brighter sun rises in another horizon entirely. A thought being pushed to the far recesses of his mind where he only visits when he is not thinking of something else. Thinking of guns, thinking of lies, thinking of a man whom he must betray but now cannot bear the very idea of it. And now he should probably give his daughter back, for fear of dropping her because he wonders if _finishing_ this is even an option.

Carol doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t really expect her to. But he also doesn’t expect the amusement in his features, just prominent enough that he silently expresses his confusion. “Oh, Vincent,” she breathes. A smile’s shadow lifts her face. “I’ve known you far too long to buy that bullshit.”

The presence of profanity in a place so sacred as this shatters whatever spell Vincent had been trying to believe he belonged in by stepping foot here. “What are you talking about? You think I’m gonna leave you?”

“God, Vincent, you already have.” Carol turns away, probably to avoid Vincent’s physical reaction to those words. But he knows it’s true. “You’re going to get yourself killed out there. You--you know that I still...care about you. But it’s too much. All of this.”

Vincent struggles for the right answer. “I swear I’m never taking another job as risky as this,” he insists. “You know this is personal.”

Carol gives a short laugh, giving the impression that she understands far more. “Oh, trust me, I know. But that’s the problem, Vincent, your _personal._ ...it’s risking your life with me, your career, your _child_ , now. And I--I get it. I get it. You have to do this. Of course I get it. But, Vincent…” She reaches up and touches his elbow. Their eyes meet and their pain is the same, it must be. It always has been, and that’s what he believed was right. “It’s too...much.”

Vincent swallows the stone in his throat. “So what are you saying?”

“Nothing, right now.”

“You’re turning me away?”

“No,” Carol says, more forcefully this time. “I’m saying I hope you come back. My door is still open for you. But I’m not going to hold my breath anymore.”

Vincent feels like his mind should be spinning. His world should be twisting, turning, making him feel more confused and shocked and in more agony than he has ever felt before. But the ground doesn’t fall from underneath him, and if anything, everything is clearer than it has ever been. Maybe it’s because he had come to the same conclusion a long time ago, in a cell to someone who believed their lives had never crossed and never would.

“Okay,” he says. And it’s like that word releases something within him, something important. Something that brings tears to his eyes, but relief as well. Something that still urges him to ask, “Have you named her?”

Carol gives a more genuine smile. “Yes. Julie.”

“Julie,” Vincent echoes, nuzzling the girl’s cheek with his finger. “Of course.”

Father and mother bathe in the presence of their daughter, quiet and unmoving for precious seconds that belong only to them. Carol brings someone new into it, though, by softly suggesting, “You’ve grown fond of him, haven’t you?”

Vincent looks up at her, more startled by that than her earlier declaration. “Pardon?”

“Leo,” Carol says, knowing full well who he is. Knowing he was there when Vincent’s brother died, knowing he was the target, knowing what Vincent and his force decided to do with him. Knowing how Vincent’s ideals have changed. “I saw that.”

Vincent finally gives Julie back, certain that he will drop her as this conversation evolves. He wants to back away from it, but he truly has no idea when he will get to speak to Carol again. So, to prove there is still a place for her in his heart, he does not leave.

“Saw what?” he asks, slowly.

Carol chuckles and shakes her head once. “All of it. I refuse to believe you didn’t see what I did, when he looked at you.”

Emergency bells blare through Vincent’s head, so real that he isn’t entirely sure they aren’t sirens outside. The heat is in his face, his neck, everywhere. He can’t even look at her, now, scared that she might somehow see the memories of what they have done. “I don’t know what you’re suggesting,” he deflects, “but whatever it is, it’s not here. It--” He closes his eyes. “Could never be there.”

It isn’t much, but it’s as close to a confession he’ll give. He never intended to, but if anyone deserved it, it’s Carol. She hums, maybe out of sympathy. “I don’t know what happened out there, and you never have to tell me. But I do know this.” She reaches up, motioning for Vincent’s face, and he hesitantly lets her touch him. She brings him close and says quietly, “I’ve always believed you would do the right thing, Vincent. Tell me the truth. Do you care about Leo?”

The answer does not come easily, but it does taste natural. “Yes.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

This one is harder. “I don’t know.”

Carol nods, probably having expected that. “You were in love with me too, once. Don’t forget that. I remember how you looked. How you acted. All the things you did for me.”

“Carol, I still--I’m not--that isn’t. I’m not…” Vincent clenches his teeth and presses his face into her hand, all at once feeling very alone. “Carol.”

“You have to go,” Carol says, and the last word hasn’t even left her mouth when Vincent hears Leo’s voice behind the wall. “Vincent! We need to get the hell out of here!”

Vincent straightens up, all at once alert. A check outside the window reveals that those sirens were not, in fact, imaginary. “Shit,” he breathes, and he looks back down at Carol. “Carol. I promise. I promise you’ll see me again.”

She grips his wrist with an abrupt ferocity, eyes ablaze. “Do the right thing,” she urges him. “Do it for him. Do it for me.”

“I’ll try.”

“You follow your heart,” she whispers, letting him go. “Maybe it’ll hit true this time.”

Tears prick at his eyes as he nods and bends down to kiss her forehead. He kisses Julie’s too, and takes in the scene one last time. He knows this will be where he goes for peace in the coming days.

And then he runs out of the room, away from a chapter, a life, a world, and into a new one.

If he’s lucky, he might just be able to keep this one together.

**Author's Note:**

> so I know there wasn't exactly anyone actively waiting for this sequel, but this is the first time I've actually been motivated to write a full AU. this obviously wasn't too differently plot-wise from canon, but I do have plans for two more fics. it will begin to massively divert by the end of the third and the entire fourth one will be new. hopefully you enjoyed the direction this is going, and if you're anyone like me, fix-it canon compliant fics are in a wonderful category all on their own! let me know if you enjoyed, and hopefully you'll stay tuned for the next ones. they will take much longer to come out as junior year begins in less than a month, but whenever I have time, I will be writing :)
> 
> NOTE: I will probably be rewriting aching blush before I start on the next fics in the series, just so it fits more. it will be a new work rather than a massive edit to the already-existing fic, so that will most likely be the next work in this series.
> 
> 12.1.19: just started on the third fic! I'd still like to rewrite aching blush, but it's time for physical fatality.


End file.
